


Morbid Stuff

by nekotachis



Series: Dimivain Weekend 2020 [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dimivain Anniversary Weekend 2020, Frotting, Graphic Depiction of Injuries, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Praise Kink, Sick Character, heavy on the hurt, porn with a little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:35:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28009332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekotachis/pseuds/nekotachis
Summary: “If I won’t be here tomorrow,” Sylvain said, more resolutely than before. His gaze was hazy and surprisingly seductive. “Then at least be with me today.”Sylvain gets injured in battle, and Dimitri can't leave his side. Day 1 for Dimivain Anniversary Weekend for the prompt "Hurt/Comfort"
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Dimivain Weekend 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051511
Comments: 8
Kudos: 102





	Morbid Stuff

**Author's Note:**

> And we have some awesome artwork for this fic by [Bowieknight](https://twitter.com/bowieknight/status/1337609124394102786)!

He saw it happen from across the fray, a barrage of arrows raining down on Sylvain and his battalion, shimmering in the red sun. Dimitri was helpless in his position, knew better than to abandon his corps to play favorites, so he steeled himself, prayed that Sylvain’s armor held tight, and pushed onwards.

Sylvain’s armor didn’t hold as tight as Dimitri had hoped, an arrow lodging itself between the plates in his shoulder. Dimitri rushed to the medic tent as soon as he was able. It had to be close to midnight, the rank smell of burning oil from lanterns around camp permeating the air. Sylvain was pale, his breathing unsteady as Dimitri watched the rise and fall of his arms carefully placed across his chest. The mage explained it to Dimitri clear and concise - poison, neurotoxic, shattered collar bone. Tedious. Unpredictable. 

“Move General Gautier to my tent. Take the cot if you have to.” Dimitri commanded. The two head mages he spoke to cowered, and he felt sorry for being imposing.

“Your Majesty, if we move him -.”

“If he dies, let it be in my tent under my command, and not in some dank sickbay.”

They stared at him, wide eyed, before turning to whisper. Dimitri unbuckled one of his gauntlets. 

“We will move him if it pleases you, but, if I may speak freely,” the mage nodded, waiting, and Dimitri nodded back. “In his condition, moving him too much could cause further complications. Aspiration pneumonia. Seizures. The hyperthermia can -”

“I’m built for war, not for medicine. Tell me in simple terms.” Dimitri said. 

“Yes, of course, Your Majesty. If we move him, and he dies, do not say we did not warn you.”

-

Dimitri curled his fingers around Sylvain’s hand as the mage worked diligently on his shoulder, the faint glow of white magic illuminating across Sylvain’s face. Sylvain’s hand was warm but without tension, and Dimitri squeezed as gently as he could. His face was relaxed, his eyes moving rapidly under his closed lids as the mage continued on. Reaching up, Dimitri brushed a bit of hair off of Sylvain’s face, the blazing heat of his body a burn on his palm.

“I think we’re done.” the nameless mage said. 

“You think?” Dimitri replied. The mage had already turned away, packing up their things. They all seemed so uncaring, disconnected. 

“I did the best I could with the abilities we have, Your Majesty. He should stir soon, but do be careful. General Gautier is still fragile.” the mage said, terse. Without waiting, he turned to leave, tying the tent flap behind him.

Alone, Dimitri could take in the full weight of his injuries. Sylvain’s shirt was left open, exposing the neat slit where the arrow entered, the skin an angry red. His shoulder was perfect until it wasn’t, the mismatched ends of his collarbone producing an uncomfortable looking bump. Sylvain’s arm was bound close to him, and Dimitri ran his fingers up it, curiously pressing at the wound.

Sylvain shifted, half his face attempting to contort into a grimace. Dimitri pulled away as if burned, feeling sheepish. “My apologies.”

“No worries.” Sylvain mumbled back. His voice was garbled and quiet, but Dimitri felt his heart jump. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he was hearing the living or the dead. Dimitri watched as Sylvain tried valiantly to open his eyes, felt Sylvain’s hand shift and slide to Dimitri’s thigh. 

“I thought I was dead.” Sylvain said. A weak smile graced his face, as if the thought of death was pleasing. 

“I’m glad you’re not.” Dimitri said, pulling Sylvain’s hand off of his thigh, taking his time to kiss his scabbed knuckles reverently. “I could not live with myself if you did. You were shot with a poison arrow, and your collarbone is -”

Sylvain tugged at his hand, a meagre attempt to pull it closer. He was weaker than a child, sapped of strength with a slight tremor upon any exertion. Dimitri let Sylvain lead, watching as he buried his face in Dimitri’s palm.

Sylvain’s breath was hot and uneven as he tried to speak. “So hard on yourself. My job is to keep you alive.” He kissed the crease of Dimitri’s palm, his lips searing. “Even if it means I sacrifice myself in the process.” 

“I count on you, Sylvain. You are more than just a pawn.”

Dimitri watched breathlessly as Sylvain continued, chapped lips rubbing against the thrumming pulse on Dimitri’s wrist. Sylvain’s head tilted, and Dimitri could see the beating of his jugular along his neck. He remembers reading about creatures who sucked the blood out of beings, and Dimitri wondered if he placed his teeth there, broke the skin, if he could nurse the poison from Sylvain. If he could take the burden for himself. 

Sylvain was making an honest attempt at kissing a finger, the tip slipping against his nose and poking him in the eye. Dimitri pulled back slightly, holding back laughter.

“I understand that you appreciate that I’m here, but you should rest.” Dimitri said. 

On the next attempt, Sylvain got it, a wet kiss placed delicately on Dimitri’s middle finger. “Not dead yet.” Sylvain blurted out.

“That doesn’t even make sense.” 

“Can’t let go until I feel you.” He was barely able to grip around Dimitri’s wrist, but the touch was burning nonetheless. A gentle tug pulled Dimitri forward, and he rolled his eyes. 

Dimitri recalled a time during their childhood when Sylvain had been sick with a fever, bleary and weak much like he was now. Sylvain had been just as needy for attention, holding back tears when he was left to himself. Back then Dimitri hadn’t understood; when he was unwell, he preferred to be alone instead of the constant fuss of staff and family. Sylvain had it different. No parent willing to comfort him, the constant goading from his brother. Sylvain now was much like who he was then - needy and helpless, and Dimitri realized that what Sylvain felt most of all was fear.

Like a dark wave, the full weight of Dimitri’s _own_ fear washed over him. Carefully, he untucked Sylvain’s blankets. He needed to feel Sylvain against him, feel the rise of his body fit into the sinking of his. Anxiety made his hands tremble. The need to know if this - if he or Sylvain - was real and living outweighed any concerns of impropriety. Sylvain watched cautiously, grimacing at every jostle, but let Dimitri shift him.

Dimitri slid in next to him, tilting Sylvain on his good side so they were face to face. This close to him, Dimitri could feel the stifling burn of his fever and the sour smell of his breath. He welcomed it, bringing his hand up to cup Sylvain’s face and pulling him in closer. 

Dimitri kissed hesitantly, unsure if it was safe. Sylvain’s lips were slack and chapped, but Dimitri felt him try to work his mouth against his. Pulling back, Dimitri waited, his thumb reaching out to rub some of the frayed skin on Sylvavin’s lower lip. 

It seemed safe, and Sylvain’s soft whines begged for more, so Dimitri dove in. Where Sylvain was pliant, Dimitri was forceful, his hand holding Sylvain’s head steady as he pushed against his parted mouth. Dimitri’s desire sparked and burned with the same intensity of Sylvain’s raging fever. Carelessly, Dimitri lapped at Sylvain’s lips, a primal need to soothe, before diving back in, coaxing Sylvain to work his tongue against his. The kiss was sloppy, more emotion behind it than any sort of skill. It barely sated Dimitri’s hunger, but it pulled Sylvain from his stupor.

“More.” Sylvain whispered. His good arm was trapped beneath him. “Please?”

With a soft push, both their bodies rolled, Sylvain grimacing and groaning in pain. Dimitri climbed on top, his legs splayed to straddle Sylvain’s hips. Sylvain smiled up at him, more shy than seductive, and Dimitri smiled back. 

“You’re alive.” Dimitri said, beaming, his stomach fluttering.

“For now.” 

_For now_. Dimitri’s breath caught, his hands endlessly roaming Sylvain’s jaw, the curve of his ear. He pushed Sylvain’s loose shirt off of his shoulder, exposing freckled skin, and Dimitri traced that, too, enamored. Sylvain chuckled softly, weakly squirming beneath him. Dimitri could feel it: the scalding heat of Sylvain’s groin, the twitch of a growing erection. 

“If I won’t be here tomorrow,” Sylvain said, more resolutely than before. His gaze was hazy and surprisingly seductive. “Then at least be with me today.” 

Dimitri sat up to straddle Sylvain’s thighs, his hands floating over Sylvain’s prone body. Sylvain’s erection was more evident now, straining against the soft fabric of his pants. Fear made Dimitri falter, but desperation made him press on, rubbing the palm of his hand up the clothed length. Sylvain turned his head towards the pillow, his mouth slack and parted, and Dimitri was sure it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

“You’re insatiable.” Dimitri choked out, swallowing back his emotion. Sylvain rolled his hips up in response, as if to prove Dimitri right, and Dimitri gripped his erection tight through the fabric. They both twitched in response. Sylvain felt so fragile underneath him. 

“Make it sweet.” Sylvain gasped, grabbing at the pillow. He was helpless beneath Dimitri, and it made Dimitri feel something possessive and nasty. “Tell me how good I was.”

“How good you _are_.” Dimitri commanded, sliding Sylvain’s linen pants lower to free his cock and balls. His erection was flushed and velvet soft, but hard as stone, and Dimitri’s mouth watered at the sight of it. He wasn’t bold enough to see what would happen if he put his mouth on it with all that poison in Sylvain’s body. 

Observing, Dimitri pumped tentatively. Sylvain’s breath caught, as if he was having trouble breathing again, and then let go in a rush, his cheeks flushing. 

“Talk to me, please.” Sylvain huffed, panting. Dimitri gripped tighter, pulling himself closer so that Sylvain could feel his own growing erection. Grinding down, their groins met, and Sylvain moaned, threading his fingers through his hair. The sound spurred Dimitri on, his cock twitching in his pants. This was a side of Sylvain usually well covered up - the unabashed desperation, the genuine desire, all the parts of Sylvain that left him vulnerable to abuse. It left Dimitri wild with power and arousal, a gift he would willingly take under better circumstances.

“You’re brave.” Dimitri started, his voice unsteady. They humped languorously against each other, one clothed, one exposed. “You don’t back down, even when you’re scared.” Like now.

Sylvain was nodding, biting his lip, so Dimitri continued. 

“You’re so loyal, the most loyal friend I have. You never once left my side.”

“ _Friend._ ” Sylvain gasped out. Dimitri bent down to quickly kiss the tip of his nose in appeasement.

“Beloved.” Fumbling, Dimitri took himself out of his pants, lining both of their cocks up to thrust together. Sylvain groaned, deep, reverberating, and Dimitri groaned in return. “So selfless.” 

He wrapped both hands around them, thrusting and tugging them together in the tight grip of his fist. Usually, Sylvain was noisy in bed, chattering and begging and pleading, but tonight the most Dimitri could get out of him was a low and feral groan, his breath barely catching up to him. Oh, how Dimitri wanted to make him feel good, how the desire bled through him in a rush. Precum bubbled out of his cock, slicking the way, and Dimitri kept his eyes locked on the pounding pulse at Sylvain’s neck.

“You’re so good, Sylvain. A good knight.” Dimitri said clear as day, and Sylvain whimpered. Reaching up, Sylvain tangled his fingers in Dimitri’s hair, tugging. 

“You always make me feel amazing.”

Little whispers of Dimitri’s name rushed out of Sylvain, and Dimitri instinctively thrust hard against him. Their balls pushed together as they rutted, sticky with sweat, and Dimitri’s toes curled. It felt unreal to be so close, to touch so intimately, perhaps for the last time. 

And underneath the heady weight of desire and lust, Dimitri was afraid. Afraid that the moment they came, this would end. That Sylvain would be gone. That there would be another “before” and “after” in his life that he’d mismanage and fumble through.

“Dima.” Sylvain mumbled, tugging on his hair again. “Don’t look like that.” 

Dimitri’s thumb pressed at the hollow of Sylvain’s throat, light but possessive, and Sylvain gasped in response, his cock twitching. If Sylvain made it another day, Dimitri would bite a line of marks around that neck, cover up his pulse with a collar only he could unlock. 

“I love you.” Dimitri said, his pace picking up, thighs tensing around Sylvain’s hips. 

“No.” Sylvain gasped, held down by Dimitri’s body and the single thumb on his neck. He trembled, his face red and eyes glassy. “No, stop.”

“I love you.” Dimitri continued despite Sylvain’s protests. He wrapped his warm hand around the head of their cocks, bowing his shoulders. “Now, and even after you’re gone.”

Sylvain’s orgasm hit him not with a shout, but with a pathetic whine. Fear and need danced in his expression, but Dimitri didn’t stop stroking them. Cum dribbled out the tip, and Dimitri collected it, thrust into it, smeared it down his length. The slick slide of semen against his cock made his stomach flip. Dimitri felt his peak approaching, fucking into Sylvain’s cum and watching him shudder through the last vestiges of his orgasm. 

Dimitri’s thumb pressed harder, and he felt Sylvain’s breath - his living, struggling breath - expand his chest, suck in at the hollow where Dimitri’s hand persists. Dimitri bent forward to kiss him, to take in Sylvain’s outbreath, searing in his mouth like smoke.

Biting down, Dimitri cums, growling as Sylvain startles beneath him. His orgasm is endless, just as he wanted it to be, his stomach tense as his balls release, cum splattering between them. He shivers through the aftershocks, fisting Sylvain’s shirt to ground himself. 

For a brief moment, Dimitri lets himself be selfish. As long as he kept his eyes closed, this moment could live in perpetuity; just him and Sylvain, intimate in a way Dimitri had only dreamed of. But Sylvain shifted beneath him, groaning in pain, and Dimitri quickly rolled back to Sylvain’s side, panicked.

He must have been pressing on Sylvain’s bad arm. Sylvain was hunched towards it, his face still flushed from their efforts. He didn’t look well, but he looked more lively than before, some color back in his features and his gaze only slightly more alert. He turned his head to look at Dimitri with a drowsy smile, nearly close enough that they could touch. Dimitri couldn’t decipher what emotion Sylvain was trying to convey - or hide.

“Did that help?” Dimitri asked tenderly, as if speaking to a child. As if they didn’t just frot against each other like their lives depended on it.

Sylvain’s smile never faltered. If anything, it grew, toothy but not reaching his eyes. His face was burning up again - maybe his fever was spiking. Maybe this was all too much, and Dimitri was killing him faster. Dimitri reached across their bodies, squeezing Sylvain’s hand on his injured arm.

“I think you made it worse.” Sylvain yawned. If he was afraid, it was undetectable. He looked, if anything, peaceful. “At least I can die happy.”

“For the last time, you’re not going to die, Sylvain.” 

Sylvain hummed, his eyes closed and his breathing slowing. Dimitri brushed the hair out of his face, peeled the rest of the blankets off and tidied Sylvain up. Sitting back in the chair he started in, Dimitri watched Sylvain drift off, hoping that those weren’t the last words they’d ever share. 

So, he started talking, more to himself than anyone else.

“When you wake up tomorrow, we’ll have breakfast together. I’ll be right here, so you won’t have to go far.” Dimitri eyed the wound again - it seemed to be oozing where it wasn’t before. He folded the blankets, placing them at Sylvain’s feet.

The tent opened, the oiled canvas flapping with a thick thud, and Dimitri momentarily froze before he remembered this was his tent and he was allowed to be here.

“Your Majesty.” The mage nodded. Dimitri nodded back. 

-

Dimitri had planned to sleep there all night, but the ghosts of his past haunted him fiercely, and the moans of pain every time Sylvain tried to roll over in his sleep was deeply upsetting. So, in the early hours of the dawn, he snuck into Sylvain’s tent, crawling into the well-made cot to bury his face in the pillows. 

And when the light of day and the bustle of camp became too much to ignore, Dimitri made Sylvain’s bed, put on his boots, and made his way back to his own tent.

What he was confronted with was different than what he was expecting.

Sylvain was upright, his arm still bound against his body. The mages had propped several blankets and pillows so Sylvain could sit up on his own. He looked bright and alert, albeit a bit greasy from sweat. 

“Hey! Your Majesty, there you are! Don’t tell me you slept outside last night.” Sylvain said, only a hint of fatigue in his voice. A mage was trying to spoon him some food, but he pushed them away with his free arm.

“Sylvain, you’re...alive?” Dimitri said. Sylvain laughed. The mage teetered over, trying to force the bowl and spoon on Dimitri. Dumbfounded, Dimitri took it, and the mage teetered out the tent, mumbling about something or other.

“Yeah, can you believe it? Man, I really thought I was done for. So,” Sylvain opened his mouth, trying not to laugh, “I got one arm for a bit now. Are you gunna feed me, or do I have to get those ugly old crones to do it?”

Dimitri put the bowl on the nearest table, ignoring Sylvain’s frown. 

“I thought you’d be dead this morning, surely. You looked like death was ready to take you when I left last night.” Dimitri said, shocked. He sat down on the same chair he occupied yesterday, both of them face to face.

“That didn’t seem to stop you when you got on top of me.” Sylvain said casually, making a fruitless attempt to reach for the bowl and spoon. Dimitri choked and blushed, spluttering.

“It’s fine, I asked for it, right?” Sylvain punctuated it with a quick peck to Dimitri’s cheek, snickering. “Maybe it was your fancy crested jizz that healed me.”

“Sylvain!”

“They say you should sweat a fever out.”

Dimitri frantically grabbed the bowl and spoon, some sort of syrup sloshing out the sides. He scooped out a dried berry, holding it up to Sylvain’s face. Sylvain had a brightness to his eyes that Dimitri had taken for granted, like the stars in the sky. 

“Please, please stop saying such embarrassing things. I’ll feed you. Just...stop.” 

Sylvain beamed, just like always. “Of course, love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/nekotachis)


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